So What’s The Score … ?        
To Be Seen As … *******… !?!            
            
Being Lyrically RAW … !!!            
For Some Fa’ SURE … !!!            
            
Or Dropping BOMBS … !!!            
On Heads Through Songs …            
In …. Native Tongues.…            
I Guess For Some …              
Is … ******* Stuff … !?!            
            
******* Words …            
of … Curse-Filled Verse …            
Like Those That Run …            
Wordplay Like … ” **** ” … !!!!!            
Now Makes MILLIONS … !!!!!!            
Believe It Son … !!!!!            
            
Is That … ******* … ?!?            
            
Or Talk For ****** … !?!            
Whose Thoughts Are Poor …            
When It Comes To The Cause …            
of REALLY Being … ******* … !!!            
            
Well Here’s The Score … !!!            
My Wordplay STUNS …              
WITHOUT Taser Guns …            
Or Running Gums …            
To Prove I’m TOUGH … !!!            
    
My ******* Mind …            
Creates Fine Rhymes …              
That EXPOSE Crimes …              
I See In This Life …      
        
So My Rhyme Designs …            
Are ******* Lines …              
That Take The Stance …            
of A … RIGHTEOUS Man … !!!!!            
            
That’s QUITE A Claim … !!!            
******* … INSANE … !!?!!            
            
Hell Nah I’m Playing … !!!            
            
My Brain INFLAMES …            
Pages With REIGNS … !!!!!            
            
REGAL … NOT Slave …              
Unable To BREAK … !!!            
            
ABOVE The Snakes …            
Lyrically... A SAGE …. !!!            
            
Ya See ******* Talk …            
INSPIRED My Walk …            
Towards These Thoughts …            
To Source Lyrical Swords … !!!            
    
Wu Tang INSURED... !!!  
            
******* To Ya Pores …              
With … Lyrics of WAR … !!!!!            
            
No Blood Need Pour … !!!!!            
But THOUGHT Fa’ Sure … !!!            
I DO …. IMPLORE …. !!!!            
Ya Bring To The FORE … !!!            
To Join THE CAUSE …. !!!!!            
            
Lyricism Good For Rhythm … !!!!!            
Incision Filled With Scissors …            
That Cut With Skilled PRECISION … !!!!!            
You Suckers NEED TO Listen … !!!!!            
            
******* Does Not Mean KILLING … !!!!!            
Or Illin’ … Penicillin …            
Is That Good For Your Children … ?!?            
            
It’s Just Rhyme Flows I’m Bringin’ … !!!            
******* NO I’m Just Kiddin’ …            
            
See This Is Lyricism …            
Built With Witticism...              
Joke Filled … YES …            
For The … Women …              
            
Cos’ Jokes Help Man …            
Get …. In Em’ …. !!!!!            
            
Girls Who KNOW Be Grinnin’...          
Cos' ******* Bros' Be Winning...            
And Seeing **’s Like VISION …. !!!            
            
I See You Chose To Live In …            
A World of... " Western Fiction ” … ?!?            
            
It Seems It’s BROKE … !?!          
..... NO Fixing..… !!!!!            
            
No Jims or Joes Enlisted …          
That Line’s For Those With Children... !!!            
    
It’s Deeper Than You’re Thinking …            
Paedophiles Who Mess With Child …            
My ******* Vibe Gets WICKED … !!!!!!!            
            
I’d **** Them Up With QUICKNESS …              
YES Them And ALL THEIR Siblings … !!!            
    
Right Now Big Virge Ain’t KIDDIN’ … !!!!!!!!!            
These EVIL BREEDS Are SICKENING … !!!!!!            
I’d Cut Heads OFF Like Quickenings … !!!!!            
            
Highlander Slander …            
******* Gambler … !!!            
Take A Risk And Slit The Wrist …            
            
I Meant The NECK...              
of ANY ******* Racist Head … !!!            
            
******* And VEX …            
When YES … ” UPSET ” … !!!            
            
Silence Transcends …………            
To Make Things TENSE … !!!!!            
            
I’m A PEACEFUL MAN …            
So It Doesn’t Make SENSE … ?!?            
            
To Make ATTACKS …            
******* Like DEATH … !!!            
            
These Thoughts Expressed …            
Have … NO CONTEXT …            
Cos’ This Violence Rests …            
            
... Inside My Head... !!!  
    
******* Oh YES … !!!!!!            
Until I’m … DEAD … !!!!!!            
            
I’m A ******* Smoker …            
Well Some Say … ” JOKER ” …            
Who Gets Through Quotas …            
Like Stocks Do …. Brokers …. !!!!!            
            
NOPE NOT Bram Stoker … !!!            
AFRICAN Yes …            
But NOTHING LIKE Botha … !!!!!!            
            
Just A Breed Like Locust …              
Swarming WARNING Those Informing … !!!!!            
...... Watch Yo’self...… !!!!!!            
Them Cards You Dealt …            
May Just Have Spelt …            
A... ******* Tell …            
            
That’s Gone DAMAGE Your Health … !!!            
            
This Set of Rhymes …            
Is A ******* WRITE … !!!            
    
Now Across The Lines … !!!            
.... of My Notepad … !!!  
As My Mental GRABS … !!!            
These Words Like SLABS …            
With … COMMANDMENT Tabs … !!!!            
            
Thou Shalt Be RAW … !!!            
And Lead The Hoards … !!!            
Like Jim WITHOUT Doors … !!!!            
            
Thou Shalt Not FORCE … !!!            
Wordplay That’s Poor … !!!            
    
“My Prose rocks jaws            
of those on boards,
Yes, Corporate ****** !”            
            
Thou Shalt Face WAR … !!!            
And Deal With SCORN …            
From Ignorant Scores …            
Who You NEED TO Ignore … !!!            
Thou Virge Were Born To YES Adorn …            
            
Pages That Source …            
Verse Born From Thought …            
            
That Some Fa’ SURE … !!!!!            
Will Call ………            
    
… ” ******* ” … !!!!!

While capable of achieving abstract thought of the highest order, the human brain tends to function best when compartmentalizing data into manageable pieces. For example, the state in which one resides is useful in a macro view of geolocation, but largely useless when it comes to ordering a pizza. As such, our species developed streets, postal codes, cardinal directions, and a whole host of determining factors to describe your home with enough clarity to ensure your disc of cheesy goodness arrives safe and sound.

By this same token, we break down and discuss music. For the most part, all humans can say that they enjoy music to some degree or another.  But for those whose passion extends beyond using the radio for background noise, there’s a point where the specificities of what we absorb aurally merges with part of our socio-cultural identity. Whether this is reflected in your sudden urge to wear strapped sandals and listen to Grateful Dead live bootlegs while slack-lining or constantly refreshing a subreddit so you know which warehouse space is hosting a tech-house set until dawn, the most passionate amongst us eventually become that which we absorb. These things become fractalized versions of ourselves. After all, someone who has never had their heart broken probably won’t appreciate Elliot Smith as much as the rest of us.

It is on the fringes of these musical personalities that we find *******. Combining the most aggressive tendencies of metal with the politics and personality of street punk, ******* is an amalgam of all things angry. Exhibiting a neb-tribalism not often seen in other subsets of music, ******* “kids” (Kids can be used to define ages ranging from 13 to 45 depending on context) understand that a sweaty basement filled with people pummeling one another will never become a societal norm. And they revel in the misanthropy.

However, this is not to say that ******* kids are fueled only by rage. From it’s inception in punk scene during the late 1970’s, the entire point of ******* has been to create a community dedicated to supporting one another during our darkest times. Sure that occasionally means punching your friend in the head, but that’s only because we haven’t figured out how to punch the geo-political turmoil of Earth in the head just yet.

Whether extolling the virtues of veganism, Straight Edge, ecocriticism, economic inequality, anti-racist and anti-racist movements, or simply just talking about how alone we can feel inside of our own heads, ******* at it’s best seeks to improve the space husk we’re all floating around on. By virtue of these lofty goals, ******* swiftly takes on a communal nature due to the common belief that we are all united against an existence which does not reflect us. Rob Lind said it best: “*******’s not much. But for some of us, it’s all we’ve got.”

Then one clear morning in December, my father died. And suddenly ******* was all I had left.

Obviously, I still had my siblings and friends. But after all, the ethos of ******* always managed to echo everything my father taught me to believe. Whether that be standing up for someone getting picked on because they’re different, refusing to place trust in authority, or rallying all the other lost souls and building your own society two steps to the left of the mainstream.

So, as an autopsy was being performed to ensure the skin, organs, and long bones of Robert Rathburn’s arms were harvested for donors, I stood in the alleyway of the Nile Theater listening to the bass reverberate through the asphalt as Iniquity, Beg For Life, Troubled, No Altars, and Iron Curtain played to a packed basement below.

Admittedly, this was a show I was supposed to be reviewing, and this piece was also due months ago. However, my time was instead spent shaking hands and hugging people I’ve spent the better part of 20 years building a small, fractured, but loving community with. At the end of the day, I suppose that’s all ******* has ever and should ever be about. Communally channeling the hurt and anger into fists and screams until it stings a little less and the emptiness of the world wanes ever so slightly.

Chief of the **** Lords
Yet pure *******
Citizens on the streets know to beware
Johnny ******* is no square
Women just melt
It’s their interlude in ***** being felt
They moan in total delight
Johnny ******* finishes what he starts in complete in plain sight
He has a tattoo that says on his huge arm, ‘BLOODTOOTH WARRIOR”
Now don’t take that tattoo saying lightly
You mess with Johnny *******, and your flesh will be dropping blood
It will be an uncontrollable flood
The gang relishes their chief like a king
His jewelry is one big bling
Controlling the streets
Even Police are frightened, and won’t patrol their beats
Johnny ******* with the name for sure
He’s one man that no one dare too ignore
The ******* being solid as a rock
But he captures everyone being a flock
Tough and muscular, it doesn’t matter if you like him or not
Johnny ******* is the man that can put be in a knot
All fact
So Johnny ******* says, “Watch your steps and stay out of my way”
You haven’t seen anything yet
But don’t bet
If you lose, it will only be your regret

.i'm still an advocate of caesarean section... i believe in animal rights... it's just plain cruel exposing a European ****** to a pan-African phallus of a fetus head ****... isn't it ****, "technically"? **** me... forget the ******* ****, the latex... the ****** *******... one pregnant women *******, and talking Freudian implosion will do.

personally? i hardly think
******* **** is what men turn
to when excavating
*******...

ever watched
pregnant
women
*******
while filming themselves?!

ever watch pregnant women
film
themselves *******?
ever?

in the beginning there
was the word,
and the word was god...

you hear the talking
of pregnant woman *******?!

**** me...
who the hell needs ******* ***...
when you can *******
to a pregnant woman...
jerking off, talking "*****",
paradoxes of Freud
about her yet to be born
son
watching her *******...

    who the hell needs
******* ****...
just watch a pregnant woman *******....

oath of god...
   hand on my heart...
     it doesn't actually encompass a
desire for intricacies of latex...

            just a pregnant woman
*******...
*** mad... *** mad...
            *** mad...
            ******* *** mad as hell...
  Freud? pale as an uncooked
pancake dough...
   the **** that comes out
from the mouth of a pregnant
woman *******...

believe me...
  i ****** off to one of them doing it
helpless.
nice try... thinking
a man would turn to *******
*******...

  can't turn to more *******,
****,
than a pregnant woman,
*******,
while talking, Oedipal,
"*****"...
            try... try, ******!
try to bash that fact out
of existence!

.you can never really write any poetry by not covering the "heartbreak" the loss of your own "printed" words: how much different is the internet, from "real" life? just asking... since: internet banking & internet shopping... to lose a poem / pre-scriptum is not exactly the same as losing a person to mind: father's day... i cooked the dinner, i took out the trash, i wrote an invoice... i guess that's much better than leaving a card of greetings... and, come to think of it? why are we the sort of people subjugated to nostalgia, with but also "without" a history? aren't we subjugated to nostalgia and a history as a "fiction"? the beginning of the 21st century, the end of the 20th century... the 19th century germans associated themselves with a nostalgia for ancient greece, we're the only people who have an inbuilt nostalgia "safety-mechanism"... the only people in time who are nostalgic about the life surrounding their own existence slot, which doesn't have a trans-temporal dynamic... i remember times when we would be teenagers... spitting on people from car-parks on imaginary tonsures, buying *****-magazines from indian cornershops, or belgian freebies of non-insinuations, white lightning cider while sleeping over at youth centers playing snooker throughout the night... even at school: attending a catholic school with the irish east enders... uniforms, sure... a chequered shirt: blue, red, white... tag? made in canada... and if only capitalism worked as it once did, made in canada? lifetime of a shirt? 20 years... now? made in china... not exactly real cotton, is it? 2 years... before ironing the shirt *****... once upon in gants hill, st. valentine's park, and the pub, recently closed, decent karaoke... in the park? golf, basketball, rowing boats in the large ponds... when the jews were there... gants hill roundabout... the hanukkah torches... jews scuttling wearing trainers come rosh hashanah: jews can't wear leather on rosh hashanah (judgement day)... shy like rats... when the jews were there (gants hill, ilford)... the park looked great... tennis courts... now, when neo-Bangladesh moved in? ****** place. what else do i remember from my original pre-scriptum that i lost? oh, that once time in gants hill... walking into a kosher bakery with ****** knuckles, having tested them on a canvas of a brick wall, buying some dough-fused-sweets? with the girl selling the sweets bewildered by fear? i like the look of fear in people when tested by uncertainty, and bleeding knuckles? later? climbing over the park fence, taking a **** while squatting in the darkened palace of the park, walking into a brothel, having my wallet stolen, not reacting in what would have been justified... high school... we wore uniforms... so no high school h'american culture trap / culture... school uniforms are the best idea, there's no chance to "shine" in telling apart the rich kids from the poor kids... there's only the standard... walking to a supermarket, past a thai surprise... sports bra, short hair... walking back... she's still there pretending to talk on her mobile to someone... you take her home with a few beers... play her some jazz... take her into the garden, the moon is a beauty... you **** her... hand in her underwear and you're still gambling... before the emergence of the nag hammadi library and the whole androgynous vogue, the thai were already readied with the lady-boys... when i reached in and found nothing but oyster... would i have stopped finding a wink-wink slouching worm? slap a trans in the face? no, not really... a thai surprise is, a thai surprise... i would have considered doing my first ****... "lucky" for me she was a she... a girl... ****** her in the garden under the moonlight... gave her my hoodie, which she drowned in... finally... the level of interaction where the female is not a mantis, i.e. a female larger than the male... she drowned into my hoodie as i walked her home... i like the familiarity with the mammalian, not resorting to insect superiority of females... these days... i find that males are strictly mammalian... while females? they are borrowing insect-esque ontologies... well, darwinism allowed the time-frame... males are mammals... females are insects, behaviour-wise... two time frame i do not appreciate the english for... darwinism is prime.... cultural-marxism my ***... what about cultural-darwinism?! no?! that doesn't exist?! cultural-darwinism is as real as cultural-marxism, and, in the former sense? it really does belong to the conservative right-wing politico spectrum! might i add? isn't psychology merely pop philosophy? i find psychology riddled with rubric cohesion, it's all oh so "self"-evident! i abhor psychologists... these gypsy philosophers... medicine-men with no pharmacological shadow of power... to prescribe drugs... arguments, persuasions, but no dialectics... psychology will forever be, for me, a philosophy primer, short-cut... pop philosophy... psychologists can treat people who have never read a philosophy book... r. d. laing... i remember this one instace... me and a fwend of mine travelled into central london, went into a bookshop shy of trafalgar sq., i spotted an edition of: the scarlet and the black by stendhal... i told him: i will trade you linkin park's debut album, if you buy me this... the transaction was made... the one book i read after seeing a film adaptation starring rachel (rakhel) weisz and ewan mcgregor... ra-kh-el: not ray-chel... we used to be humans once... at high school getting bullied back... putting pins on chairs once we got up, sitting on them... playing bulldog in primary school, slap-ball, tag, playing cards at lunchtime... 16 fatty boy... one summer in poland, comes back aged 17... the irish girls take an interest while eating a pomegranate... what was the success of your diet? don't go to the gym... excess skin, an aesthetic surgeon is not what you need... there are only two ways to lose weight... either via swimming or by cycling... cycling is the best... lose weight by also toning your body... gym is a bad idea... by going to the gym you are straining exclusive parts of your body, either the torso, your hands, etc., jogging? unless on soft ground, bad idea on concrete, arthritis... cycling or swimming... lose weight... tone at the same time, the skin is allowed the required time to adapt to shrink, and forget what propped it up in plump form with all that excess flab... ugh... i hated being attractive to the opposite ***, i never used it to my advantage! imagine... an irish lad comes up to me, on behalf of some girl while i'm donning a french braid: you look just like johnny depp in blow, impersonating george jung... 14 year old girls walk up to you asking what shampoo you're using... herbal essences... i never used my looks... *******... now i'm a heavy drinker... so much for looks... first girlfriend? a fwend had to call me telling me she called him that she felt butterflies when i dropped her at the train platform after a day's worth of dating: tate modern, edward hopper exhibitions, cinema: troy, starring rose byrne (briseis) - honestly, a man can go crazy over curly hair... and then a restaurant date... that **** just flew over my head... i wouldn't have noticed... honestly though... i missed the whole h'american cultural excavation genesis in high school... catholic... uniforms... jesuit army-esque formation... now, i'm ageing... i'm starting to find the company of cats to be: clingy... my shadow included... i once thought that dogs were needy... i'm starting to think that cats are worse, esp. the maine **** breed... "lonely" or "loneliness" doesn't really resonate with me, esp. when thinking something "feels" like a variation of claustrophobia: hence i write... without a dialectic in place, ever since plato wrote his dialogues... what is philosophy, primarily? isn't it an off-shoot of "claustrophobia"? we write because we are seeking escape from congested thinking, a variation of "claustrophobia"... now imagine a schizoid character... having to focus on an imaginary dialectic, actually... having dialectics enforced on him, with no clarifying exodus to posit a gensis with! now, a clingy dog i could understand, given the overpowering status of the leash... but a clingy cat, when there's no leash involved?! shoom! right over my head... gone, somewhere into the distance!

what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions hype...
and didn't?
and instead took to patience?
it's free...
   where once,
a game would cost you 20 quid,
and a month's worth
of narrative,
back then, when games
resembled books,
when the gaming industry
was heavily influenced
by literature...
and now?
   the game's free...
sure...
it's "unfair", it's biased...
when you don't engage
in imported gambling
of succumbing to what, this is the part...
were i cite...
   the weimar ******
critical condition...
       a daft punk troop
of a song,
  end of line....
blow-up a hot air balloon...
worth of blaire whire...
play the tambourine
like a ******* video...
there are,
quiet, simply,
no nazis coming...
fashionista faux pas
examples...
i'm alive,
but i'm dead,
i just forget to don
a strap-on...
  "oops"?
   that **** go down well
with
the "in"-crowd...
usual... metropolitan...
verbiage surge of answers....
   many a fetish after...
we arrive at the sensible
aspect,
"toxic masculinity"...
when guns n roses wasn't,
and nirvana was just plain
gay...
              and then...
whatever that happened,
happened..
                 and people were like:
come to the "new" tomorrow,
there's always a yesterday,
in a dream,
in some phil collins
wannabe
studio...
or... some other random ****
that
excluded peter gabriel.

                 i died:
and just about right:
my harvest had come.

great book reviews...
"toxic masculinity"...
so all masculinity is
about a clockwork orange?
   if it is?
can i be pro abortion
anti mongolian horde?
yes? no?
  which is it?!
neither...
   **** me... that's just bad
luck...

                               sundbeds,
sunflowers,
tulips,
sunglasses,
    plenty of staged
eager nights...
boring political affairs...
and...
         when gaming was
more about the narrative...
and never,
ever, about the microtransactions...

point being...
it's a game within a game...
time, is the prime concern...
you play a game,
by waiting...
you wait: by playing a game...

  microtransactions
are...
you ever move a sim3 avatar
to a computer,
and make it play a computer game?
what's on the macrocosmos spectrum?
you....

               "back in the day"...
you'd spend a saturday morning
engrossed in a gaming narrative...
metal gear solid,
tenchu, final fantasy solid...
20 quid...
and you played the narrative...
and a game became equivalent
to the worth of a book,
resident evil,

            you paid for a month's worth
of gaming,
you exchanged tips,
you sometimes bought a cheat book
because of the homework,
and that was your saturday morning
before hitting the shopping mall
or, whatever...

the current dynamic of
microtransactions in gaming?
i never, ever, do...
i'm an old gamer type...
i see the potential of extending
the life-expectancy
of a game...

   as long as you don't buy into
the microtransactions gambling habit?
as long as you play the "game"
within the game?
the game is an assured classic,
akin to chess...

              you have to play
the waiting "game"...
             time...
                           that's all it is...
whether war robots,
    or dawn of titans...
        comparison...
  you know that the best fruit,
is fruit, allocated
to the geography of it being sourced
seasonally...
you can't actually get better
strawberries,
than english strawberries...
from england, come june / july...
no ******* point sourcing them
from spain in late march / april....

    same thing with gaming...
the modern games haven't made any
elaboration...
apart from dislodging the player
from the concept of narrative...
**** me... that's almost an improvement...
given that now: time is the counter
measure, and the gamer...
   is having to invest,
in a narrative, outside of the confines
of the game,
once upon a time,
games had time-narrative
constraints...
     now: there's time,
and there are gamer narratives,
excluding them from time-narratives,
of a game...
         it's almost a faux pas...
more like a wet-*****...
****** pinky lodged into an ear,
an april fools' day scant...

        if you hacked passed
the microtransactions...
       and didn't have the chance...
microtransactions are like
the old school cheat hacks...
but not quiet, but somehow quasi-,
       a modern microtransactions,
would be a cheat magazine
thorough-through
a game like final fantasy VII...
you have homework,
but you still want to complete the game...
modern games...
modern games...
there's an "end gole"?
  what modern game is worth
"completing"?
    
   again: tron, ready player one,
back to the future...
star wars just became dead
to me...
   sick people will plague hard-working
people, with a quasi-gambling
addiction,
needing to make microtransactions...
and they will,
my father was plagued by
an impostor, claiming to be a
tax office official:
and what if, that person had
an authentic position at the tax office?!

when gaming was for gamers,
the games were bought...
there was a narrative...
but now... now games don't have a narrative...
why would they?!
   who the hell plays games for
the narrative these days?
i know that on the crapper,
i need a game that allows me
to experience live-stream
interaction with non-bots...

       and these old gamers,
who still invest their money
in literature-esque-games?
so i was the sad one,
investing in vinyl?
   aren't the classic ******* gamers
just as bad,
investing in prepackaged
narrative gaming
experiences?
             a game with a narrative...
yeah... me buying vinyl
is: b'ah b'ah bad...
       what sort of game is alive and well...
when there isn't a crowd pushback
for the currency of microtransaction?

the narrative is time,
   the longer you endure the inadequacy...
the more you realise:
you're basically playing
the same game,
but in your scenario:
it's free...
   in some other ******'s scenario:
it cost him 70 hundred quid...

personally?
   i love this microtransaction dynamic...
concerning the people who
do not engage with it...
it's the perfect antithesis
   of what ruined the music industry
with genesis: napster...

you really are, playing the ultimate
game,
time...
         the one sort of commodity
that games,
without a clear narrative construct,
"forgot" to mention in terms
of them being exploited...
to their full capacity
of the one "commodity"
they "forgot", or rather,
couldn't "sell"...

              a tenchu PS1 game could
have lasted me a month...
now? a free game,
like war robots...
with absolutely no NPC?
hell... i'll be 90 and still be playing it;

what else? applause!

Mary Poppins name change with a new blend
The new name being Mary *******
Pumping stretch galore
Ms. ******* who shows intensity with the weights in exercise
She is now with a new enterprise
Lift approach
Mary ******* is no joke
Concentration and Vision
A new attitude having a reason
Exercise tips with formulating dips
The umbrella left behind
Mary ******* toned and doing fine
Genuine one of a kind
Back in the day, it was sing and dance
Exercise has become the level of advance
Transforming her own spirit into merit
Strong in mind and soul
Behold
Mary ******* is in control.

Yeah I am a ****
No I don’t want a hug
Being a **** is a way to survive
Living is what life provides
I have been to the ******’s Ward
A place called Jail
In Jail you had to be tough
******* is about being rough
There would often be fights
It would often be dark bearing no lights
But you had to be strong and use might
Sometimes Correction Officers look the other way
This could be on any given day
Being a **** is about having a stance
The mean streets were about taking a chance
As a **** you don’t advance
A ******* **** is about having control within the Hood
Showing no fear is how a **** stood
Crying is definitely not an option
Fright, but never showing it
Other Thugs know how to communicate
It’s interaction in relate
Hand Grasps in **** Unity Brotherhood
**** power to establish
**** knowledge to accomplish
Yeah I am a ******* ****
My picture being on the Most Wanted List bearing my mug
Being a **** can also be your death
The shorten time a **** shall live
Bullets can have a ****’s name in the aim
Yet the focus is consistently on blame
Being a **** means sometimes you verse a Rap
At times it might sound like a forbidden trap
Hola if you know what I am talking about
**** being a ******* ****
The idea of enforcing ******* is being a **** in stating none of your business

I love a woman,
who's not afraid to speak her mind
who ain't afraid of the up-shots
In 1960 women burnt their bras
protesting and debated for equal rights

I have no time for women with weak links
they could loosen the chain
before they could really think
If you choose to be strong
stay strong, be confident:
Do not let your fears choose your destiny
Never let anyone senses your fear
or even drove you to the verge of tears..

I have no tolerance for a strange brew
idealism and self-interest
it defies me, and somehow
it make me uncivil,
but I am a woman of dignity
However, if you want to rolled with me
You have to be strong,
no wee, wee ,wee little crotch -less *****
Heartless.. for heaven sake I am not
I am just a ******* notch from the block

i like wearing miniskirts and i read marie claire
i like bubblegum pop music and i like to dye my hair
i like rich thick hot pink lipgloss and i like to pretend
i still dress up all the time even though i’m seventeen
and im learning how to defend myself

i pretend my legs are made of silk and i pretend im sleeping beauty
i fake like im a natural blonde and fake like im a cutie
i like having kitten pits and i like kissing girls
i like clothes that show off my **** and i like wearing pearls

i like the way my hair smells of peaches
and i like it even when it reeks of 15 different kinds of bleaches

im a ******* soft girl
im a pincushion queen
a raspberry swirl cheesecake
a pretty little thing with a head full of snakes

deliberately unclean
deliberately obscene
pretty as yesterday’s underwear
pretty as the roots of courtney’s hair

pretty as my favourite les mis scene
when anne hathaway’s fantine dreams a dream
and her nose starts running as she starts to cry
and everything felt real for once in my life

i’m covered in face powder and i’m covered in dirt
and you’ll never know joy if you never know hurt
and that’s why they make disney princess plasters
so when you skin your knees you’ll only feel prettier after

let’s talk about all the junk we like
and re-learn the art of laughter
i’ll be in the kitchen making raspberry tea
whenever you wanna join me

You want your hair pulled
and your *** smacked
and some ***** talk
for pleasure...
that's some
serious
******* pleasure.